All the Right Places (RILEY O'BRIEN & CO #1) Page 7

  Exhaling loudly, he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Yeah, it was not an easy time for any of us.”

  She didn’t comment, hoping he would continue. After a long pause, he spoke again.

  “I wasn’t one of those sons eager for his dad to vacate his position. And even though I’m the oldest, I didn’t assume I would be his successor. Teagan and Cal have just as much of a right to this job as I do. But they didn’t want the responsibility, which worked out because I did.”

  She considered what he’d said. She definitely had the impression that Teagan would take Quinn’s job if she thought her older brother wasn’t performing.

  Teagan had a ruthless streak that Amelia found both unexpected and unnerving. She wondered if the redesign might be the catalyst to bring the other woman’s ruthlessness to the forefront.

  She brought her attention back to the subject at hand. “Is your dad better now? And if you don’t mind me asking, what kind of cancer does he have?”

  “Colon cancer. Stage III.” He looked at her, his dark blue gaze so bleak she expected to hear bad news. “Yes, he’s better. His cancer is in remission.”

  If that was the case, why did he look so troubled? Did he dread the day his dad came back and he had to step down?

  “I’m so glad to hear that. It must be a big relief.”

  “Being in remission does not mean he’s cured. Not even close.”

  He rolled his shoulders, and she could tell he no longer wanted to talk about his dad’s cancer. “Do your parents live close by?”

  “Pretty close. They live in an area called St. Francis Wood. They’re still in the same house where I grew up, but Mom has been talking about buying a condo in one of the high-rises downtown. I keep telling her that she won’t like it, but she’s convinced it will be better for Dad. She doesn’t want him climbing up a ladder to change a lightbulb or crawling under the sink to fix a leak anymore. If they lived in a condo, the condo association would take care of that stuff.”

  She wondered what St. Francis Wood was like. She was curious what kind of home Quinn had been raised in. He and his siblings were heirs to a significant fortune, and they had probably grown up surrounded by luxury.

  She had no doubt his childhood home and the place where she had grown up had only one thing in common: they were both located on the planet Earth. Beyond that fact, she couldn’t imagine any other similarities.

  Before Amelia had moved in with Ava Grace, she and her mother had shared a one-bedroom apartment in a rundown duplex. She’d slept on the sofa with one eye always open in case one of her mother’s boyfriends ventured from the bedroom to “explore.”

  “What about your parents?” he asked. “Do they still live in Texas?”

  Nausea churned in her stomach. Her background embarrassed her, and she didn’t want to share it with someone of Quinn’s privileged existence. He was everything she wasn’t—wealthy, educated, successful, good-looking, and from a good family.

  “No,” she answered curtly, hoping he would get a clue that she didn’t want to talk about her family.

  He tilted his head. “Where do they live?”

  “My mother is dead, and I don’t know where my father is.”

  Her voice was hard, unfriendly. She didn’t want to invite more questions because if she were honest, she’d have to admit she didn’t know who her father was.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” Quinn replied quietly, his eyes dark despite the sun reflecting off the bay.

  She shrugged off his condolences. Her mother had caused Amelia more pain in life than she had in death. Maybe it made her unfeeling, maybe it made her a monster, but when she’d received the call that her mother was dead, she had been relieved.

  When she had moved in with Ava Grace, she had tried so hard to distance herself from her mother. When Janna had died, she had finally obtained the distance she needed.

  At the time, she and Ava Grace had saved every penny so they could move to Nashville, and Amelia had been angry, so very angry that she’d been forced to use that money to bury her mother. When she thought about it now, her earlier anger caused her such shame she could barely stand to look in the mirror.

  She realized she had a lot of unresolved emotional issues stemming from her childhood. She knew this because she watched Dr. Phil occasionally and she read a lot of self-help books. Together, they were a cheap therapist.

  Quinn cleared his throat, and she realized she’d been staring into space, who knew for how long. She focused on his handsome face, and not for the first time, she wished she could be proud of the person she was today.

  Proud enough to share the details with someone like Quinn.

  Chapter 9

  Amelia made it back from lunch with Quinn just moments before Deda walked into the conference room with two other people, a woman and a man, both in their fifties.

  “Diana, Vandy, this is Amelia.”

  Deda provided a little bit of background on both of them, and she did her best to commit the details to memory because she didn’t want to offend them. Diana Stanton was the chief financial officer, and Karl Vandenberg, known to everyone as Vandy, headed up the women’s division.

  Diana had worked for Riley O’Brien & Co. since the mid-eighties, starting out as a secretary for Mr. O’Brien. She reported directly to the president and CEO, and since Quinn currently filled that position, she answered to him. Vandy, meanwhile, had been childhood pals with Mr. O’Brien and joined the company in 1989. He also reported directly to Quinn.

  As soon as Deda finished the introductions, Diana took control of the meeting. Amelia found her demeanor very abrasive, and she wondered if it was because Diana was part of the generation responsible for advancing women in the workplace and breaking the glass ceiling.

  “Quinn directed me to share some very specific financial information with you.” Diana sniffed, as if the very idea offended her sensibilities. “I can’t imagine why he’d want to do so since you won’t be fronting any of the costs related to your project nor will you be sharing in any of the profits.”

  Since Amelia didn’t like the woman’s attitude, she was quick to correct her. “That’s not entirely accurate, Diana. Teagan and I worked together to come up with a compensation plan that is based on performance. If and when my designs reach a certain sales threshold, I’ll start to get a percentage of each sale.”

  Diana flushed at her rebuttal, a defiant expression on her face. The tension in the room was palpable, and she wondered if the older woman was equally combative with Quinn.

  Is that what Deda had meant when he’d said some people were having a hard time with the transition from Mr. O’Brien to Quinn? If so, she had an entirely new level of respect for Quinn. She also felt strangely protective of him, and it made her angry that his employees might not fully support him.

  Vandy cleared his throat. “Quinn thought it was important for you to know how much the women’s division contributes to the company’s overall revenue. In other words, how important the division is in the whole scheme of things.”

  Vandy passed a thick report to her. “This shows the total dollar revenues for the company for the past twenty years broken down by division and product.”

  She flipped through the pages, taking note of some of the more important charts, while Vandy continued his explanation. “It also includes several pie charts that show what percentage of the revenue is attributable to each division. Last year, for example, revenue generated by the women’s division accounted for eleven percent of the company’s total income.”

  Diana scoffed. “She doesn’t understand what you’re saying, Vandy. She’s interested in fashion, not finance.”

  Amelia was not only shocked by the other woman’s verbal assault; she also was angered by it. “Since we’ve known each other for less than an hour, I find it strange you think you know what I
am and am not interested in.”

  Deda choked, but she didn’t take her eyes off Diana. The other woman glared at Amelia, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Although Amelia didn’t want to start her project on a bad note, she wasn’t about to let this woman insult her. She had taken care of herself and stood up to bullies before she’d been able to ride a bike.

  “I understand Riley O’Brien & Co. needs to be more competitive so it can survive for five more generations. The women’s division needs to pull its own weight. It should generate a lot more money and account for a larger percentage of the overall revenue.” She tapped her pen against the report. “The only thing that is debatable is how to make more money.”

  With that statement, she took control of the meeting, not really caring she lacked experience in the corporate world. She tucked her insecurities away, for the moment, and tackled the problem.

  “Vandy, since Riley O’Brien only produces two styles of women’s jeans and those styles have been around for thirty years or so, it doesn’t sound like you spend a lot of time on product development.”

  The older man nodded. “You’re right. We don’t have a single person dedicated to product development for our division. My group is focused on manufacturing and distribution.”

  “How do you feel about adding a line of accessories to your division?”

  Vandy had the guts to answer her question honestly. “I don’t know. Although I’m sure you’re very talented, I doubt accessories will make much of an impact on our numbers.”

  “And how would you feel about a complete redesign of the existing products and possibly expanding the product line to include jackets, shirts, skirts, and maybe even dresses?”

  She knew she took a huge risk by asking the question since it could give away her true objective. But she really needed to understand the level of resistance she faced.

  “James didn’t like the idea of diluting the Riley brand,” Vandy said with a frown. “He didn’t want to turn it into something it wasn’t. We’re a jeans company, that’s all.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Amelia countered. “Rileys are an American icon, and icons remake themselves so they never lose their place in society, no matter what.”

  Judging by their frowns, neither Vandy nor Diana liked what she’d said. Amelia glanced toward Deda, curious to see what he thought. He winked and gave her a thumbs-up.

  • • •

  Quinn had to deal with a minor emergency after he and Amelia returned from lunch. He was on the phone when his brother stuck his head into his office, and he beckoned Cal inside with a wave.

  “Three days,” he said into his headset. “That’s it.”

  As Quinn ended the call and clicked off the headset, Cal shot him a curious glance. “What was that about?”

  He filled Cal in on the crisis. Several of their manufacturing facilities were experiencing production delays due to a denim shortage. There were a lot of things that caused shortages, and in this particular instance, the recent flooding in the Northeast had interrupted operations for several textile producers.

  Fortunately, they were well past the back-to-school shopping season or they’d really be screwed. They had some time to fix the problem and get things back on track before the holidays.

  “I gave our procurement department three days to find a new source of denim. Deda’s group has already vetted several potential vendors.”

  Cal frowned. “I’m glad you’re the one who has to deal with that bullshit and not me.”

  Usually, Quinn loved solving problems like a production delay or a denim shortage. But he was a little distracted by thoughts of Amelia and their lunch conversation. He had enjoyed talking with her more than he’d enjoyed getting naked with other women.

  He snorted. It had been so long since he’d had sex, his memory of the pleasure was surely dulled. Otherwise he’d never compare a simple conversation to an energetic romp in the sheets. He hadn’t been with anyone since Luna, and they’d broken up just after Valentine’s Day last year.

  Although he’d always had a strong sex drive, his dad’s illness and his own expanded job responsibilities had devoured all his physical and emotional energy. But his sex drive had returned with a vengeance. In fact, it had revved up right about the time he met Amelia. Whenever he was around her, he felt electrified, like the air right before a bad thunderstorm.

  Cal moved across the room toward the sofa, drawing Quinn’s attention. “Did you have a reason for stopping by? Something important to tell me?”

  Cal dropped onto the sofa, stretching out his long body and letting his feet dangle off the armrest. Quinn’s blood pressure rose as he took in his brother’s position.

  He didn’t mind when other people sat on his sofa, but he hated for anyone else to lie on it. Cal knew how much he hated it, which was why his brother lounged on it every chance he got.

  He scowled. “Get off my sofa.”

  The jackass ignored him. “I met Amelia this morning,” it said, braying loudly.

  “That’s what I heard. Get off my sofa.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Amelia. I took her to lunch because Teagan got stuck in a meeting with Boaz.” He paused. “Get off my sofa.”

  Cal chuckled. “Amelia reminds me of that Disney heroine . . . the Scottish one with the curly red hair.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get off my sofa.”

  Cal sighed. “Right. Of course you don’t, because you don’t have kids.”

  “You don’t, either.” Saika had a five-year-old daughter, though, so that might explain Cal’s extensive knowledge of Disney characters. “Is that what you wanted to talk about? The fact that Amelia looks like a fairy-tale princess?”

  “You think she looks like a fairy-tale princess?” Cal asked with a big grin.

  He growled. “Cal, I’m going to punch you in the face if you don’t get off my sofa and get to the point in five seconds or less. Five, four, three . . .”

  “Okay, okay.” Cal swung his legs to the floor and rose to his full six four. “I just got the preliminary report from the firm we hired to conduct market research for the women’s division. The research team is going to be here next Wednesday to present the findings. You might want to think about attending the presentation.” He exhaled loudly. “The findings are going to upset you, Quinn. They made me sick to my stomach.”

  His stomach soured just from the look on Cal’s face. “Why?”

  “Because the research proves what we’ve suspected. We’re so far behind our competition that we’re not even in the race. We’ve lost more market share than I expected. Frankly, I’m not even sure it’s possible to reverse the trend.”

  Cal was sharp. Very little slipped by him, and he had the education to back up his instincts. His brother was finishing up the final quarter of his MBA at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business, the number one business program in the nation.

  The school had an extension program in San Francisco that competed directly against Stanford, where Quinn had received his graduate degree. Undoubtedly, he and Cal would argue over which one of them had the best education, and he had plans to deface one of Cal’s Wharton sweatshirts with a big red S.

  Taking a seat in front of Quinn’s desk, Cal speared him with his icy blue gaze. “You know the saying ‘Using a Band-Aid to stop a hemorrhage’? That’s where we are.”

  Scrubbing his hands over his face, Quinn exhaled roughly. “Do you have anything good to tell me?”

  Cal considered his question. “Demand for apparel, and jeans in particular, is still strong.”

  “That’s good since we make jeans,” he said sarcastically.

  Cal continued as if Quinn hadn’t said anything. “Sales of accessories continue to grow across all categories, including handbags, belts, and shoes
.”

  “That sounds like opportunity to me, especially since we’re doing this line with Amelia.”

  Cal nodded. “The most encouraging research finding is that none of our competitors are pairing jeans and accessories and selling them as a package, and none of them are doing a good job capturing demand for boho-chic items, which basically describes Amelia’s style.”

  “So we made a good choice?”

  “Teagan made a good choice,” Cal reminded him. “Amelia has more name recognition with younger adults than we expected, and more than any other designers who might have partnered with us. So, we just need to make sure we keep her happy, at least until she finishes the project.”

  Quinn nodded, thinking it shouldn’t be too hard to keep her happy, as long as he kept his hands to himself. But then his amoral alter ego chimed in.

  Maybe you could make her even happier if you didn’t keep your hands to yourself.

  Chapter 10

  Cal had been right. The market research findings about the women’s division were depressing as hell.

  After Quinn talked with his brother last week, he’d taken Cal’s suggestion and cleared his schedule for this afternoon so he could attend the official presentation.

  Because of an unexpected phone call from one of the banks that provided financing for Riley O’Brien & Co., he’d been late getting to the collaboration area and all the seats were occupied. Although he stood in the back of the room, he was still able to see and hear the presentation clearly.

  The presenter, a woman named Shelby Carruthers, headed up one of the best market research firms in the nation. The firm focused exclusively on apparel and apparel retailers, and Shelby knew her stuff better than anyone else in the business.

  This wasn’t the first time Riley O’Brien & Co. had worked with the firm, but it had been several years since the company had conducted a comprehensive market research study. And it was the first time any research had been done specifically to find out how consumers felt about Rileys for women, further proof the women’s division had been neglected for far too long.